Mr. Wrenn and Charley chose (that is to say, Charley chose)
a table at Drubel's Eating House. Mr. Wrenn timidly hinted,
"I've got some big news to tell you."

But Charley interrupted, "Say, did you hear old Goglefogle light
into me this morning? I won't stand for it. Say, did you hear
him--the old--"

"What was the trouble, Charley?"

"Trouble? Nothing was the trouble. Except with old Goglefogle.
I made one little break in my accounts. Why, if old Gogie had
to keep track of seventy-'leven accounts and watch every single
last movement of a fool girl that can't even run the adding-machine,
why, he'd get green around the gills. He'd never do anything
_but_ make mistakes! Well, I guess the old codger must have had
a bum breakfast this morning. Wanted some exercise to digest it.
Me, I was the exercise--I was the goat. He calls me in, and he
calls me _down_, and me--well, just lemme tell you, Wrenn,
I calls his bluff!"

Charley Carpenter stopped his rapid tirade, delivered with quick
head-shakes like those of palsy, to raise his smelly cigarette
to his mouth. Midway in this slow gesture the memory of his
wrongs again overpowered him. He flung his right hand back on
the table, scattering cigarette ashes, jerked back his head with
the irritated patience of a nervous martyr, then waved both
hands about spasmodically, while he snarled, with his cheaply
handsome smooth face more flushed than usual: